


I Didn't Say the Lord's Prayer

by turbo_geek



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Humor, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29837943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turbo_geek/pseuds/turbo_geek
Summary: "Now that it's dark outside," Grandma says, "who wants to visit the mango tree?"Based on a true story -- but which parts are true is a secret.





	I Didn't Say the Lord's Prayer

"Now that it's dark outside," Grandma says, "who wants to visit the mango tree?"

"Why the mango tree?" my older sister asks.

"Because summer nights are warm and ghosts like the smell of fruit.” 

"But _our_ mango tree? In the middle of the suburbs?" my sister says, skeptical. She’s twelve and likes to teach us new things she learns from school. Like cool words in English and why we should never eat mustard because it's made of rotten mayonnaise, because why else would it be that color?

"Ghosts go wherever they please," Grandma announces, "especially when they know someone can see them."

"You can see ghosts?" my brother asks tremulously.

"The Lord gives me the sight,” Grandma nods. “If you devote yourself to Him, He lets you see things others can’t.”

My brother turns white.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing a ghost,” I pipe up.

“Liar!” my sister snaps. “You’d be too _scared_.”

“Why don’t we,” Grandma tuts, pulling out her wallet, “make a bet?”

“I thought gambling was only for New Year,” my brother protests.

“That’s special gambling,” Grandma says, “and we use pennies, anyway. This is different; I’m the only one who loses, so is it _really_ gambling?” 

“…No.”

“Exactly. Now, if one of you go down to the mango tree right now and bring me one leaf, I’ll give you money. Five dollars –” Grandma brandishes a bill at my sister, “—because you’re the oldest and, therefore, the bravest. Well, somewhat.

“Ten dollars for you –” she winks at my brother, “—because I know you wake your little sister to guard the bathroom door when you need to go at night. And lastly, seven dollars for you because you’re the youngest but also your brother’s bodyguard. Who wants to go?”

I stare at my brother. He stares at our sister. She ignores us.

“I’ll go,” I say, puffing up. My heart’s hammering.

Grandma laughs and creaks out of the hammock, pulling the door open. The screen door is next, then I’m standing in the doorway, the backyard silvery-blue with moonlight and noisy with insects.

“If you see a ghost,” Grandma says, hustling me outside, “remember the Lord’s prayer.”

“Which one?” I ask, dazed.

“I taught you a bunch, just pick one.”

Then I’m out, shuffling through the grass. The mango tree is planted at the very, very bottom of the backyard slope, furthest away from the house, a massive black shape looming in the dark.

Everything looks bigger in the dark.

I shuffle up close to the tree.

“Good evening, Mister Mango-Tree,” I mumble, afraid to look up from my toes. Grandma says that ghosts like to sit in trees. “I just want one leaf. If you don’t mind—”

“Why would I mind?”

I freeze.

“If—” I gulp, “if you don’t mind, I’ll just take—”

“Like I said, child, why would I mind? It’s your tree as much as mine.”

Something icy touches my hand.

“Here you go. One leaf.”

I glance up. The icy thing is a finger. 

Two fingers. 

An arm.

Dark, _dark_ hair.

And a wide smile.

“Thank you, Aunty—or—Uncle, uh—”

“Aunty,” the ghost says, smiling wider. “It’s nice of you to visit. I love seeing you play so happily.”

“Aunty,” I stutter. “Thank you.”

Then I whirl and sprint the fastest I’ve ever gone up that slope, through the door, and face-first into the couch. I don’t realize I’m crying until my sister wrestles my hands away from my face and demands to know what happened.

“I—I,” I sob, “I—I saw an, an _Aunty_ —”

“Did you say the Lord’s prayer?”

“I—huh?”

“The Lord’s prayer,” Grandma says, patting me on the back. “I assume you did since you got the leaf right there. Let’s trade.”

And she takes the leaf out of my hand, replacing it with a crisp fiver and two ones.

“You’re officially my bravest grandchild,” Grandma says proudly. “Congratulations.”


End file.
